


Stuck on a Train

by Violetrose93



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Cinnamon Roll Scorpius, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hogwarts Express, Inter-House Relationships, Next-Gen, scorose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetrose93/pseuds/Violetrose93
Summary: Even magical trains can malfunction. Luckily for Scorpius, the Hogwarts Express fails just as Rose stops by his compartment looking for Albus. And when Scorpius and Rose try to go looking for him, they make another unwelcome discovery. Scorpius always did want to spend more one-on-one time with Rose . . .





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just discovered the comments feature in Word (I know, I know, I'm way behind the times), and now I'm really in a huge editing phase. I wrote this a while ago, but I've cleaned it up some, so hopefully some fellow Scorose shippers out there like it.

Scorpius sighed dreamily, staring out the window as the train steamed away from the station. Through the glass, he watched as the snow-covered rooftops and towers of Hogwarts receded, not to be seen again until the next term.   

His heart gave a slight twinge at the thought of the long, solitary weeks that were looming in front of him. While growing up in a sprawling manor in the English countryside might seem idyllic, Scorpius knew the truth. Behind the elegant gardens and the impressive stonework were echoing corridors and dark, empty rooms. And loneliness. Crushing loneliness.          

Instinctively, he turned to look at the seat his best friend usually occupied. Albus had gone looking for the trolley witch, hoping that their escapades at the beginning of the year wouldn’t keep her from selling him some Pumpkin Pasties.        

Scorpius turned back to the window, smiling contentedly as he watched snowflakes streaming past the glass. He had always believed that winter was the prettiest season. It wasn’t his favorite; he got sick too often to fully enjoy the frigid, snow-filled months. But there was something in the delicate lacework of ice clinging to fragile tree limbs, and the way dappled moonlight fell on sparkling white ground that struck a chord in him.

The compartment door slid open with a metallic rasp. Without turning around, Scorpius said, “Even if she did sell them to you, I’m not eating any. Wouldn’t put it past her to give us the exploding variety.”

When Albus didn’t answer, Scorpius turned around. “I’m totally serious―” His voice died in his throat. It wasn’t Albus standing in the doorway.

The expression on Rose’s face was an odd mixture of awkward determination as she stood at the threshold.

“I’m sorry, I was looking for my cousin,” she said, staring fixedly at Scorpius’s shoulder. “Do you know where he is?”

“Uh . . . I’m not sure,” Scorpius said slowly, his brain spinning. “But,” he added, smiling shyly at her, “he’ll probably be back soon. If you wanted to wait for him.”

Rose’s mouth twitched slightly, her nose wrinkling with the barest hint of contempt. “Thank you . . . but no. I’ll―stop by later, I suppose.”

Scorpius’s heart and face plummeted. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Okay.” He turned back to the window, hiding the flush that he could feel slowly creeping up his face and neck. Of course she wouldn’t wait. She could barely stand to breathe the same air as him, let alone make polite conversation.

The compartment door slid shut with a soft _thunk_ , and Scorpius swallowed hard, willing himself not to cry. He was almost fifteen years old, dammit. And besides, what was a little rejection when, just a few months ago, he’d had the Cruciatus Curse used on him by an insane, murderous Dark witch?  

. . . Sometimes, though, he thought he’d be willing to brave the Cruciatus Curse every day if it meant Rose would like him. Or at least not look at him like rotten fish.

He exhaled forcefully, leaning forward to press his forehead against the icy glass. Closing his eyes, he listened to the rhythmic movement of the wheels on the tracks. _Schick-schick-schick-schick, schick-schick-schick-schick, schick-schick-schick-schick._      

“You know, you’re not very observant.”        

Scorpius jumped and turned sharply to see Rose sitting on the edge of the seat closest to the door, observing him with a mixture of stiff disapproval and amusement.

“What are you―?”      

“I mean, I could have hit you with any number of jinxes and you wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late.”           

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you . . . I thought you left.”

Rose sniffed. “I figured I might as well wait for Albus. I don’t want to have to walk all the way back here again.”

“Oh. Right.” He and Albus usually ended up with one of the last compartments on the train, away from everyone else. It was just one of the many perks of being them.

“Mmmh.”

The silence stretched between them, dense and awkward. Rose stared at her hands with a closed expression while Scorpius tried not to gawk. Tried and failed. Her hair glinted red and gold in the warm lamplight, and he couldn’t help but notice how many different shades of blue her eyes were.

His heart gave another spasm, painful longing flaring up inside his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it quickly. He didn’t need a repeat of the bread incident.

Apparently, Rose was thinking along the same lines. “No comment on my perfume today?”

He smiled reflexively, trying to ignore the way his heart kept somersaulting. “I figured I’d bite my tongue this time, keep you from hating me any more than you already do.”

An odd expression flitted over Rose’s face. Looking unsure, she opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the compartment door slid open again.

“Okay, so apparently she’s still sore about us jumping off the train, so―”

Albus stopped short at the sight of Rose sitting so uncomfortably in his usual seat.

“Hello.” She stood up quickly, reaching out to steady herself as the train sped around a curve. “Albus.”

“Rose.”

Scorpius looked back and forth between them, trying to decide which one would crack first. On one hand, Albus’s face looked as though it was carved from stone. On the other, Rose’s fingers were laced together so tightly he was surprised that they hadn’t snapped in half.      

He cleared his throat and looked at Albus. “So, no Pumpkin Pasties, I gather?”

“Nope,” Albus replied through gritted teeth.

“Ah, well, not surprising.” Scorpius sighed and leaned down to rummage in his bag. “I think I might have a few Cauldron Cakes left over from my birthday.”

Albus snorted, finally turning to look at him fully. “I think I’ll pass on the food poisoning, thanks.”

“Oh, come _on_.” Scorpius flushed slightly. “That was one time.”        

Rose raised an eyebrow. “One time, what?”

Albus sank down beside Scorpius, rolling his eyes. “One time that Scor tried to kill me.”

“Two points. One, I did not and have never tried to intentionally kill you. Two, there was no way for me to know that those cakes were expired.”

“The fact that you’d gotten them for Christmas the year _before_ didn’t tip you off?”

Scorpius made a face at him before sneaking a glance at Rose. Her mouth was quirked slightly, her eyes amused. It was such a departure from the severe looks that usually graced her face, and for a moment, Scorpius lost his breath. He couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have her look at him like that.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he sat back in his seat. “Well, you’re still alive, so no harm done,” he said to Albus.

“Easy for you to say,” he replied darkly. Then, turning to Rose, he asked, “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

Her face reverted to its usual mask of stony aloofness. “James sent me to tell you that we’re going straight to the Burrow once the train gets to London.”

“What? Why? We’re not supposed to leave until next week.”

Rose reached into her robes and pulled something from her pocket, which she tossed down on the seat beside her cousin. “He got a letter from your mum last night.”         

Albus snatched up the parchment and scanned it, scowling. “Oh, that’s just fantastic,” he said sourly when he had finished, chucking it back down. “Wonderful.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Scorpius tentatively. “Is everyone okay?” Unwillingly, he thought of his own mother, who was not and would never be okay again.

Albus just shook his head in disgust. “My parents left for France early. They won’t be back until right before term starts.”

“Good.” Rose nodded decisively. “Heavens knows they need a good holiday, especially after what you—” She stopped speaking abruptly, the rest of her sentence hanging heavily in the air between them. Albus flushed angrily.

“Thanks, Rose, thanks for that.”

“For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied mockingly. “Being a complete and utter prat?”

Scorpius winced, wishing he could sink into his seat and disappear. He hated it when they fought; their venom and vitriol were aimed at each other, but he was the one who usually ended up being caught in the crossfire.

“You are so full of yourself, you know that?” Rose tossed her hair furiously. “You think you’re the only one who gets a bad go of it. My parents are going to France, too, Albus! I get to spend my holiday crammed into a room with your sister and Merlin knows who else! At least you get the attic to yourself.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Albus replied sarcastically. “The wonderful attic, with its drafty windows and pipes and, oh yeah, _the ghoul that lives in the ceiling_!”

Rose swelled threateningly, but before she could fling another insult, Scorpius interjected quietly, “Even a ghoul sounds like good company when you spend most Christmases alone.”

They both froze, turning to look at him incredulously.

“Alone? Scor, what about your dad?” asked Albus, his brows creased.

Scorpius shifted uncomfortably. “After . . . my mum . . . well, I don’t really see him much on holidays. It’s too hard for him, I think.” He dared to glance at Rose, unsure of what he would see. Of what he wanted to see. But her face was blank, the only remnant of emotion the angry flush that still colored her cheeks and ears.

Albus stood up suddenly and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking ashamed. “I . . . I’m just gonna . . . bathroom . . .” he mumbled, shouldering past his cousin and out the door.

In the silence that followed, Rose steadfastly avoided Scorpius’s gaze. She looked like there was anywhere else she’d rather be, and he wondered why she didn’t just leave.

After a time, he said, “You know, this is only going to be weird if you let it be weird.”

Rose laughed, looking surprised. “Using my own lines against me, Malfoy?”

“Well, they’re generally better than the ones I come up with.” He grinned half-heartedly and was rewarded with, if not a laugh, at least a snort.

“Don’t I know it. ‘What’s wrong with bread?’ Honestly,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh, come on. That can’t be the worst thing someone’s ever said to you. . . . Can it?”

“No, Malfoy, that is not the worst thing someone’s ever said to me. Honestly, it doesn’t even crack the top ten.”

Scorpius made a face. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“No, you really don’t,” she said, sighing. “But then again, I guess you have it worse than me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as far as I know, I’ve never been accused of being Voldemort’s daughter.”

“Neither have I,” Scorpius joked. He paused. “Well, actually . . .”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

He grimaced. “Yeah. But you know . . . I’m used to it.”

The train gave a sudden lurch, and Rose, who was still standing by the door, stumbled and collapsed onto the seat.

“What the hell?” she said, but her words were drowned out as a piercing shriek rent the air. The train deaccelerated rapidly, throwing her forward onto the floor and pinning Scorpius against the back of his seat. The entire compartment trembled as the train came to a shuddering halt.

“Are you okay?” asked Scorpius anxiously. Something metallic clicked loudly, but he ignored it as he crouched down beside Rose.

She sat up and winced, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

Scorpius looked at her arm pointedly and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m a little banged up,” she allowed. “But I’ll live. Really. And we have bigger problems.”

If he was being honest with himself, Rose looked more than a little banged up. Her hair, which was excitable even on a good day, was everywhere. An angry red mark marred her forehead, and even though she was trying to hide it, she was holding her arm gingerly.  But leave it to a Gryffindor to shrug off their injuries.

“I don’t know who’s more hardheaded, you or Albus,” he muttered. Shaking his head, Scorpius helped her back onto the seat. “I’m going to go see what’s going on,” he said, grabbing the door handle.

Rose stood right back up, still favoring her shoulder. “I’m going with you.” When Scorpius didn’t respond, she added, “Huh. I thought you’d argue with me.”

“Because you’re hurt?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Two points. One, I’m pretty sure that even if your arm was broken, you’d still be able to beat me into submission.

Rose smiled dryly. “And two?”

Scorpius turned to face her, looking disconcerted. “Neither of us are going anywhere. We’re locked in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forced interaction, yay! The one surefire way to get two fictional characters together. 
> 
> Also, I am aware that as of CC, one of the punishments Albus and Scorpius receive from McGonagall is no Christmas holiday. But I started writing this before I knew that, so shhhh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a very long time to finish, mostly because I just couldn't get back into the story. I finally, finally found some inspiration this weekend, and am actually almost finished with chapter 3! (There's an excerpt of ch3 on my tumblr page if anyone's interested.) Since this week was one of the worst weeks ever, it was really nice to be able to come back to this story and cheer myself up a bit. And I hope it cheers others up too!

 

 

* * *

           “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

            Scorpius shrank back under Rose’s glare. Elbow throbbing, she shouldered past him and, with her good arm, shook the door handle hard enough to rattle the glass in its frame. The door itself, however, refused to budge. 

            “This has to be some sort of prank—or—or—” Her face darkened dangerously. “I swear to Merlin, if my cousin is behind this—”

            “Hold on,” said Scorpius crossly. “Albus didn’t have anything to do with this.”

            Rose took a deep breath and resisted the urge to throttle him. They’d barely been alone for five minutes and she was already getting violent. “Not Albus, you prat,” she said, her voice laced with contempt. “James.”

            “But . . . why would James stop the train?”

            “Hell if I know. Just to see if he could?” Rose flopped down onto the seat by the door. “James is more of a ‘mischief-for-mischief’s-sake’ kind of bloke.”

            “Well, that’s just fantastic,” Scorpius muttered, retaking his seat by the window. They sat in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Or in Rose’s case, _stewing_ in her own thoughts. Of all the people to be locked in a compartment with . . .  

            “Just my bloody luck.”

            “What?”

            Rose looked up guiltily. She had meant to stew silently.

            “I meant . . . just my luck, getting locked in a train compartment.”

            Scorpius observed her shrewdly. “You meant, getting locked in a compartment with me.”

            Just then, a crisp female voice broke into their conversation.

            “This is the conductor. We apologize for the delay and urge all passengers to remain calm. The train is currently experiencing a minor mechanical issue that we hope to have resolved swiftly. For your safety, the compartment doors will remain locked until the train is back in motion. Thank you for your patience, and your cooperation.”

            The witch’s words echoed slightly before fading into the silent stillness that had overtaken the train. Rose glanced uneasily at the window, where snow was falling faster and thicker than ever. There weren’t many things that could stop the Hogwarts Express mid-journey.

            Unlike her, the announcement seemed to have put Scorpius at ease. “Minor mechanical issue . . . that doesn’t sound too bad,” he said hopefully.  

            “If that actually is the real problem,” Rose pointed out, giving the window another ominous look. “Do you honestly believe they’d tell us the truth?”

            “Considering we’re already locked in, I don’t see the point in lying to us,” he replied, shoulders hunching slightly.

            “You really are daft,” she snapped. “Do you know what happened the last time the train stopped in the middle of a journey like this?” She couldn’t stop herself from looking out the window for a third time; it was almost as if she expected to see thin, mottled fingers scratching at the glass.

            “You mean in September? No, I don’t.” Scorpius laughed. “But I always wondered what happened after Albus and I jumped. Did they send people out looking for us?”

            Rose snorted. “Not hardly. Other than the trolley witch, no one even noticed you were gone.”

            Fear and agitation made her words harsher than she’d intended. A flurry of emotions flashed across Scorpius’s face—hurt, shame, misery, even a little anger—before he turned away to face the window again. Rose’s conscious pricked uncomfortably as she caught a glimpse of his reddening eyes in the windowpane.

            “Look . . . I didn’t mean it like that,” she started to say, but Scorpius cut her off with a hoarse, choked laugh.

            “How did you mean it then, Rose?” he asked, still facing away from her. “There aren’t a lot of ways that can be taken.”

            “What I meant—”

            “I know what you meant,” he whispered. He paused, then said, “It doesn’t matter.”

            Her face burned as Scorpius hunched over ever farther, obscuring his face from her. It was an unfamiliar sensation, blushing. She wasn’t like her father or her cousins; her emotions didn’t hover right at the surface, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been self-conscious enough to physically show it.

            But, if she was being brutally honest, Rose thought, squirming uncomfortably, it wasn’t insecurity that was currently causing her face to flame. It was shame.

            “I shouldn’t have said that,” she said quietly. When Scorpius didn’t acknowledge her, she continued. “I just meant . . . you and Albus don’t really talk to anyone besides each other. Which isn’t a bad thing,” she added hastily as Scorpius turned to face her.        

            “Why do you think that is, Rose?” he asked, his face pale and drawn as he stared at her with incredulous eyes. “People don’t talk to _us_. Do you honestly believe that either of us enjoys having exactly one friend in the entire castle?”        

            “One _best_ friend,” she corrected, crossing her arms. “It’s different. You don’t need anyone else if you have a best friend.”

            “Spoken like someone who has more friends than she knows what to do with,” he scoffed.

            Rose glared at him. “You don’t know anything about my friends.”

            “And you don’t know anything about me and Albus.”

            “Oh, Really?” she retorted, leaning forward with flashing eyes. “What, you think you and Albus are so close?” A harsh laugh forced its way past her lips. “You’ve known him for a couple of years. I’ve known him since he was born. He was _my_ best friend way before he was yours, Malfoy!”

            Rose didn’t know when she’d started shouting, but she was knew when her eyes started to sting. Blinking furiously, she stood and yanked on the door handle until her wrist ached. Slapping her hand against the glass did nothing other than make her palm sting. Cursing, she gave the door a sharp kick before sitting down and burying her head in her hands. Her hair swung down in a thick curtain and shielded her face from prying eyes. 

            But instead of being cool and comforting, the darkness behind her eyelids smarted. Shivering in the chilly compartment, Rose swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat to dissolve. It was a trick she’d learned during her first year away from home, when she used to lay awake in Gryffindor Tower and ache with loneliness. With missing Albus.        

            She felt the seat cushion beside her sink down. Trying to force her emotions into a dark corner of her mind, she sat up, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she did . . . and jumped as Scorpius yelped in pain. Jerking backwards and clutching his face, he cried, “What was _that_ for?”

            “What? I didn’t do anything!” she replied indignantly. “What are you---Oh. My hair . . .”

            “Yes, your bloody hair!”        

            Rose tried to stifle a laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. She snickered. It was just so ridiculous.

            Glaring at her with narrowed, watering eyes, he said, “Seriously?”

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, but as the apology came out between snorts of laughter, it didn’t seem all that convincing. “It really was an accident.”

            “Sure,” he muttered. “Right.”

            He looked so pathetic, sitting slumped against the seat with blonde hair falling across his forehead and his gray eyes filled with wounded pride that Rose managed to quash most of her amusement and adopt a very solemn countenance. “I am sorry. It was unintentional.”

            “. . . Fine. I believe you.”

            The moments that followed were the most comfortable Rose could remember spending in his presence. Neither of them spoke; for a while, it was enough to simply sit and listen to the snowflakes fluttering against the windowpane.

            Finally, Scorpius looked at her. “I didn’t steal Albus from you,” he said softly.

            The spell broke. “What?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning away from him.

            “Our first year. Albus still wanted to be friends with you. Even with the bullying, he used to look forward to the lessons Gryffindor and Slytherin shared. He wanted to be your friend, Rose . . .  but you didn’t want to be his.”

            “That had nothing to do with it,” said Rose hotly. “It was—we were in different Houses!”        

            “Different Houses? Or Gryffindor and Slytherin?”

            Rose glowered at him. “It must be nice to be able to forget what Slytherin stands for,” she practically spat.        

            Scorpius colored, hands balling into fists at his side. She’d never seen him this upset. “Oh, trust me, Rose, I never forget what Slytherin _stood_ for. People remind me of that every single day of my life,” he said bitterly. They glared at each other for a moment before he took a deep breath and asked, “Did you ever read about Ilvermorny?” 

            Taken aback, Rose wrinkled her nose. “The American school? No. Why?”

            “Because it was founded by a pureblood and a Muggle,” he said. “They were married.”

            For once, Rose was speechless. Even in Britain, the idea of a pureblood marrying, not a Muggle-born, but a _Muggle_ , was practically unheard of. But in America?        

            “How?” she asked. “The Americans had laws against that.”

            “Rappaport’s Law.” Scorpius nodded. “But Isolt Sayre and James Steward predated it by more than a century.”

             “I guess it can happen,” she said dubiously. “Look at my parents.”

            “Your mother is Muggle- _born_ ,” he said. “She’s still a witch. And your father wasn’t exactly . . .”         

            “What? A typical pureblood?” asked Rose scathingly. “Or did you mean blood traitor?”

            “I meant that the Weasleys never cared about blood purity. Which is true.”

            “So what? Who cares if some random American witch decided to shack up with a Muggle? Good for her.”

            “ _I_ care,” said Scorpius heatedly. “I care because Isolt Sayre was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. And she _still_ married a Muggle!”

            “Are you sure?” she asked bluntly. “Because that seems a little too—”

            It was Scorpius’s turn to look scathing. “You’re seriously questioning my history knowledge right now?”

            Rose paused, then snorted. “No, I guess not. But still, it just seems so . . . so . . .”

            “Unbelievable?” he asked softly. “Yeah, I thought so too when my mother told me about it.”

            “Your mother?”

            Scorpius nodded, drawing his knees up onto the seat. “I think she liked the story because it reminded her that being a Slytherin didn’t automatically mean you had to be bad. Growing up, her family was like my father’s. The whole ‘blood purity’ thing.” He turned to stare out the window at the falling snow. “But then, after the war . . . she wanted things to be different for me. They both did, but her especially. Scorpius was still staring out at the snow, the flickering lamplight sending long shadows across his face.

            Rose flushed red with shame again. In all the years she had known Scorpius, she had never given more than half a thought to his mother, not even when she died. There were a thousand response and replies rattling around in her mind, but what she heard herself say was, “My parents don’t like to talk about the war either. None of my family does. There were too many—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.          

            So Scorpius finished it for her. “—too many people lost.”

            That was a different way of putting it. Lost. Not just dead, but lost. People who had been born with so much talent, so much possibility, but had chosen to throw it away in the pursuit of hate and prejudice. People like his father. Like his grandparents.

            Not for the first time since the beginning of term, Rose found herself looking at Scorpius Malfoy in a new light. Her childish prejudices had always seemed so sure, so certain. But the more time she actually spent with him, the less they seemed to apply to Scorpius.

            “Did you really want to give it all up?” she asked suddenly. It was the question she’d been dying to ask him since September. 

            Scorpius looked startled. “Give what up?”

            “Everything. The popularity, the influence. Being the ‘Scorpion King’.”

            He frowned, considering. “I suppose it was nice, in a way,” he finally said, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the seat cushion. I mean, Albus still says I’m lying about Polly Chapman asking me out—”

            Rose snorted. “He’s not the only one.”

            “—but yeah, not being hated was nice. But my mom was still gone, and so was Albus. And, Rose, there was so much _suffering_ ,” he added, looking at her plaintively. “Everything was so dark, all the time. It was like everything I’d ever heard about the last year of the war, but worse.” He shook his head. “I didn’t give up anything. Not really. I just . . . set things right.”       

            The silence grew as she considered his words. _I just . . . set things right._ But what did that even mean? she wondered. Things were definitely better now, but were they completely right? Was everything the way it should be?

            Unbidden, memories from the last three years flitted through her mind. Their classmates belittling Albus, mocking Scorpius. The graffiti on luggage and the nasty rumors that seemed to follow them both everywhere. Even with what Scorpius’s father had done twenty years ago, was that _right_?       

            Shivering, she swallowed and shifted closer to Scorpius. He leaned in and, without really noticing, she did the same. Their faces were inches apart when she whispered, “I’m sorry. I really am. About your mom, about what people say . . . about what I’ve said. I’m sorry.”

            He gave her a small smile. “You don’t need to apologize.”

            “Yeah, I kind of do,” she replied. She realized suddenly just how close they were sitting. He was warm, comfortingly so, especially in the now freezing compartment. And she could see the striations in his irises, more shades of gray than she’d thought existed. For the first time, she wondered what he saw in her eyes. If there was anything worth seeing.

             “Rose, I—”

            The train jolted jarringly, and for a moment, she assumed that it was starting to move again. Peculiarly, the thought filled her with disappointment.

            Then the lights went out, plunging the compartment into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of the story is slightly different from the one on my FF account. Most of the changes are just editing clean ups, but I did alter some of the dialogue to be a little more realistic and less melodramatic. But the story itself is fundamentally the same. If anyone cares enough to read both, feel free to let me know which one you prefer, either here or on FF.
> 
> As always comments are really nice, as are questions, concerns, and requests, because they let me know that people enjoy what I'm writing. It might not seem like a big deal, but it's surprising how nice it is to log on and see people get as excited over Rose and Scorpius as I do. :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally posting this here. I'm really hoping to have this story finished soon. Sorry for taking so long, and thank you to everyone who's still hanging on!

To his everlasting shame, Scorpius squealed when the lights went out. Face burning, he was absurdly thankful for the darkness.

He heard a faint whimper from Rose's direction and turned in surprised. At first, he thought he must have imagined it. After all, Gryffindors weren't afraid of anything, let alone the dark. And Rose was the most fearless Gryffindor he had ever met—excluding her family of war heroes, of course. So when he felt her shudder and slide down onto the floor of the compartment, it took a moment for him to realize that she wasn't trembling from the cold.

"Rose? What's wrong?"

She didn't respond, but Scorpius joined on her on the floor anyway. It was difficult, keeping his balance in complete darkness. He had never realized just how much he relied on sight to keep himself upright. But eventually his back was pressed against the bottom of the seat opposite her. Or, rather, where her voice was coming from. Without a light, it was hard to tell.

"Hurry up and cast Lumos," she ordered. "I can't believe I didn't bring my wand."

"I can't," he replied sheepishly. "I don't have mine, either. "

Scorpius was surprised. He never would have guessed that Rose had such a . . . colorful grasp on the English language. All he could do was hunker down against the seat bottom and wait for the storm to pass. He'd learned that, unlike Albus, who was a champion at sulking, the tempers of his ginger relatives tended to burn out fairly quickly.

So when the string of expletives finally died out, replaced by shallow breathing, he asked, "Feel better?"

"No."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"It doesn't sound like it."

"I said, I'm  _fine_."

Scorpius snorted. "You are so like Albus."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snarled.

"Maybe it's your whole family. I dunno. I haven't really spent that much time with anyone other than Albus. Well, and now you, obviously. But it doesn't seem like feelings are really your lot's strong suit."

Rose laughed harshly. "Right. Because Malfoys love sharing and caring."

He was silent as he wrestled with his anger.

Her voice quite a bit smaller, she said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I know."

"I didn't mean—"

"You weren't wrong," he interrupted. "My dad, my grandparents—they prefer compartmentalization over 'sharing and caring'."

"But not you."

"No," he said bitterly, fingers plucking at the carpet. "Not me. Nor my mum. Which is probably why my dad lov—it doesn't matter now."

"Yes, it does," whispered Rose.

He hummed evasively in response, fingers still worrying away at the carpet. Outside, the window howled against the side of the train. He shivered. If the temperature in the compartment kept falling like this, pretty soon the lights would be the least of their worries.

"How does a magical train malfunction anyhow?" he asked. "Isn't that the whole point of it being magical—so there aren't any mechanical problems?"

"Maybe it's a magical mechanical problem," Rose offered.

"No," he corrected, laughing, "a magical-mechanical-malfunction. Say that three times fast."

She groaned playfully. "You know what kind of people laugh at their own bad jokes?"

His reply was cut off by as something banged against the window. This time, it was Rose who screamed.

Heart hammering somewhere in his throat, Scorpius's hand automatically went for his wand. When his fingers met with empty space, he forced himself to take a deep breath and say, "It was probably just the wind knocking snow off the roof. Just the wind."

But she didn't seem to have heard him. "They said they were all gone," she moaned, her voice rasping through the darkness before fading into faint, rattling breaths.

"Rose, what are you talking about?" Scorpius asked, scooting toward her. Their knees touched in the darkness, and although he half-expected her to pull away, she didn't move.

"The train stopped once when my parents were on it," Rose whispered. "In their third year. And it got dark like this . . ."

He swallowed hard and glanced at the window. Snow was still blowing heavily against the glass, and somewhere up in the sky, thick storm clouds were blotting out the moon. "When Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. You don't think Delphi . . ."

"No," she said quickly. "Of course not."

Scorpius exhaled. "Yeah. Right. Of course not . . . But you said the train stopped before because—"

"Because of the Dementors," Rose said hoarsely, and the word hung ominously in the dark space between them.

When he found his voice again, he said, "But there aren't any Dementors at Azkaban anymore. Kingsley Shacklebolt sent them away, because of what happened during the war."

"Yes, he did," she said haltingly. "But where did he send them away  _to_?"

That was the thousand-galleon question. Scorpius shivered as he imagined of a horde of dark, billowing shapes descending on the snow-covered train, forcing their way through the doors and into compartments. Without wanting to, images of Rose's parents and Severus Snape flashed in front of his eyes, bodies on the ground surrounded by swirling black cloaks . . .

"Thanks, Rose," he said finally, trying to wrench his mind from the very dark place it had gone. "I hadn't considered Dementors."

She swallowed audibly. "I don't—I'm sure that's not it—it's just . . ."

"Just what?"

He felt her shudder. "I  _hate_  Dementors," she said, her voice cracking. "James used to scare me and Albus, talking about them sneaking into our rooms at night and—"

Just then, the lights gave a feeble flicker, and in the instant of lamplight that illuminated the compartment, Scorpius could see that Rose's face was bone white, contrasting starkly with her vermillion hair. He could only imagine what his own face looked like. And then the light was gone and the compartment was once again in shadows.

"I'm not particularly fond of Dementors myself," he said shakily. "I mean, for obvious reasons, of course, but also . . ."

"What?"

Unable to think of a good way to say,  _Because I once saw them literally consume your parents' souls,_  he heard himself tell her, "Like . . . the way their cloaks are way too big for their bodies."

". . . what?"

Scorpius thought he could detect a faint whiff of amusement beneath her fright. Encouraged, he continued. "Well, I mean think about it. They could be carrying anything under there. Shrunken heads, Doxy nests, Blast-Ended Skrewts . . ."

And for the first time in his life, Scorpius heard Rose Granger-Weasley laugh. And not unkindly, either! And at something he'd said. Him! Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy! He grinned and fought the urge to do a little dance. As much as he wanted to jump for joy, he settled for wiggling his toes; that way, his leg kept touching hers.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts . . . do you honestly expect me to believe that, finding yourself face to face with a Dementor, your biggest fear is that it's going to open its cloak and a Blast-Ended Skrewt will jump out?"

Even though he knew she couldn't see him, Scorpius nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry, didn't your parents ever tell you about the Skrewts? Those things were  _nasty_."

"I'm not arguing that—"

"—that's funny, you argue everything else—"

"—but a Skrewt isn't going to suck out your soul," she finished, giving him a kick. But it was a playful kick, and once again Scorpius felt like dancing.

It would be awful if Dementors really had boarded the train, he reflected. But for the moment, the tension seemed to have broken. And the longer they sat there together, laughing in the darkness at their fears, both real and imagined, those more unlikely those feared seemed.

* * *

"If it wasn't so dark, I bet I could see my breath," Rose muttered a little while later.

"Probably," he agreed, flexing his aching fingers. The cold had been gradually seeping through the window since the train stopped. Glass wasn't a particularly great insulator.

Without warning, one of Rose's feet slammed into the seat next to Scorpius. He yelped and jerked away. "What was that for?" he exclaimed.

"Wasn't aiming at you," she growled. "I just can't  _believe_  I don't have my wand."

"Now you know how Albus and I feel."

"I forgot," she admitted. "They took your wands away."

"Just on holidays," he replied cheerfully. "And we're not allowed to do magic then anyway, so it's not really much of a punishment."

"It certainly feels like a punishment at the moment," Rose grumbled.

Scorpius started to respond, but stopped. He stopped because a beautiful, dangerous idea had taken form in his mind, and if it worked, losing his wand would definitely  _not_  be a punishment.

"Rose," he whispered, his voice scratching against the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Um, maybe . . . we could . . . never mind."

No. He was not going to suggest that. She would kill him. Or at least slap him. Probably both. Kill him, then slap him.

"What?"

"I said never mind. Just ignore me. I mean, you have enough practice, right?" His voice was so high that Voldemort would have been jealous.

"Malfoy, I am tired, I am hungry, and I am  _freezing_. What are you on about?"

Ah, an escape. "If you're hungry, I still have some sweets in my bag." He stood up hastily and stumbled over to where he'd been sitting. "Honestly, Albus was right, the Cauldron Cakes probably aren't any good, but James brought us some stuff from Honeydukes when he went last. Pepper Imps and Sugar Quills and Jelly Slugs—"

He was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"—well, I don't like them much, but Albus swears by them. Personally, I hate the way they slide around—"

"Me too," Rose finally interrupted. "But if you're done trying to distract me with candy, I'd really like to know what you were going to say."

So, not an escape. Perfect. It was times like these that he wished she was just a little bit more like Albus. Not even Scorpius could pretend that his best friend wasn't one of the most oblivious people on the planet. But at the moment, it would have been helpful if Rose didn't possess a propensity for perceptiveness; the lack of which was what made Albus so infuriatingly endearing, after all.

"It was nothing," he said quickly, feeling his way clumsily back to where she was sitting. "It's just . . . it really is cold . . . so I thought . . . I don't want you to take this the wrong way . . . but if we sat a little closer, it might . . . Please don't hit me."

He cringed in the darkness, waiting for her reaction. But after a lengthy pause, Rose just sighed. "Budge over then."

"R-really?"

"I'm too cold to care about anything else at the moment."

"Me, too," he replied swiftly.

"And, obviously, this never leaves the compartment."

"Obviously."

"I'm serious. Not. A. Word."

"My lips are sealed."

"Stop talking about your lips."

"Stopping."

And then, as she settled down beside him and Scorpius tried to stop his brain from having a complete meltdown, he could have sworn he heard her mutter something about bread.

They were both as stiff as Bowtruckles at first, arms barely touching, and all Scorpius could think was, Don't be awkward, don't be awkward,  _do not be awkward_  . . . Reaching into the pile of sweets, he repeated, "This is only going to be weird if you let it be weird."

"Oh, Merlin."

"Sugar Quill?"

"You're enjoying this too much," she said darkly.

But she took the candy.

"I always enjoy talking to you," he replied truthfully. And looking at her. And being near her. And—no, not smelling her. That was weird. Smelling people was definitely weird. Even if her hair did smell like ink and fresh parchment at the moment. Not that he was smelling her, of course.

"Why?" asked Rose after a lengthy silence.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why would you like talking to me? I've never been exactly . . . nice . . . to you."

That he couldn't dispute. But all he said was, "Yeah, but you could've been a lot worse. Most people were. Are."

"So, that's it? You like talking to me because I wasn't as horrible to you as I could have been?" Her voice was pinched and strained, as if she suddenly found herself in front of an unexpected crowd.

"I mean, I also think you're brilliant," he offered. "When we had those debates about the Goblin Rebellions in Professor Binns' class . . . I was dying to go up against you, and I was so jealous of McLaggen."

Rose snorted. "Don't be. There are mountain trolls with more brains than Conall."

"That's probably true. It was pretty embarrassing."

"Which part?"

"The one where he opened his mouth." Rose snorted. "But I was jealous anyway

"It wasn't even a debate," fumed Rose. "I mean, his points were so ridiculous! How can you argue against someone that inane?"

"My favorite part was when he started talking about House Elves."

"That was horrible! He forgot what  _species_  we were talking about, for Merlin's sake!"

"And Binns didn't even notice!" They both laughed; when they settled down again, the awkwardness had almost entirely dissipated; they leaned against each other with an ease that Scorpius had only dreamed about. It was still freezing, of course, but it helped to have someone else so close by. He wondered if she felt anything beyond the shared warmth; if, even for just a moment, Rose was enjoying being near him, the way he enjoyed being near her.

He heard the rustle of sweets wrappers as Rose started sifting through the pile. "When I was a kid, I thought having a ghost for a professor would be so amazing," she said with an affected sigh. "But I was wrong. So very wrong." She tore open a box and he barely had time to wonder if she'd grabbed Pepper Imps or Jelly Slugs before a high-pitched whistle filled the air.

Scorpius grinned. "I have always regarded the Pepper Imp as the king of the confectionary bag." The steam from her ears blew across his face and ruffled his hair.

"Oh, shut up," she said, the sound starting to die down. "That was—Merlin, that was ages ago."

"Three years," he said softly. His life had been so different then. His mother had still been alive, but he and Albus weren't friends. Not yet. He hadn't met Delphi, or seen what a Time Turner could do in the wrong hands. But he hadn't had the chance to share Pepper Imps with Rose, either.

"I need a favor," she said suddenly.

"Anything."

"I want . . . I need things to be different with Albus," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "To be better. But I . . . I generally muck things up when I try talking to him. Look at today. And we haven't really been close since . . ."

"He met me?" he finished quietly.

Rose was silent for a moment. "Yes."

His heart went through a vise, constricting as though it wanted to blot itself out of existence. Just when he thought things might be different, that their relationship might actually  _change_  . . .

"But that wasn't his fault, or even—or even yours," she continued, sounding strained again. "It was mine. Even if he hadn't met you, he still would've been Sorted into Slytherin. I just . . . used you as a scapegoat."

"Well, it didn't help that people were convinced that I was the literal child of Voldemort," he joked feebly, his heart wobbling hopefully in his chest.

Rose sighed exasperatedly. "You make a lot of jokes for a Slytherin."

"I don't know why you don't make more."

"Why, because I'm a Gryffindor?"

"No," said Scorpius earnestly. "Because your dad owns a joke shop." Something that felt suspiciously like a half-empty box of Pepper Imps smacked him in the chest. "Hey!"

"What?" she asked innocently, then yelped as he flung a Sugar Quill at her.

"Nothing," he replied, just as innocent.

"I'd throw something else at you, but I'm too hungry to waste it," she said grumpily, and he heard her bite into the Sugar Quill.

"Shame," he said, rubbing his hands together briskly. "I was almost warm for a minute."

"Me too," she said, shuffling closer. After a few moments of silence, punctuated only by chewing, she asked, "So. Will you help me?"

"With Albus?"

"Yes. After all, you do know him best."

Before Scorpius could reply, the floor started to hum beneath them. The lamps flickered once, twice, then flared to life, filling the compartment with warm, buttery light. They both scrambled to their feet as the train gave a sickening lurch, then started to move, very slowly, forward.

"I guess it really was a mechanical problem," Rose said dubiously.

"I'm almost disappointed," Scorpius replied. "In a way, I think I was hoping for something a bit more . . ."

"Magical?"

"Exactly."

"Well, it is a magical train, after all," said Rose, looking down at the sweets scattered all over the floor. "Merlin. How much stuff did James buy?"

Scorpius wrinkled his nose. "Come to think of it, I'm not actually sure he  _bought_ any of it."

"Typical," she muttered, but she bent down to help him gather everything up anyway.

"And I'll try," he said, stowing the last of the boxes in his bag. "To help with Albus. You just have to have patience, I think. He's stubborn. It'll probably take him some time."

"Even with you on my side?" she asked, staring at him steadily.

Scorpius found that he actually preferred it when the lights were out. The darkness hid his blushes. "I'm always on your side, Rose," he said, looking down. Zipping the bag shut, he added, "Except when you beat Slytherin at Quidditch. Then I can't make any promises."

She rolled her eyes. "Naturally," she said, smiling wryly. "I'd say the same thing, but since Slytherin never beats us—"

Once more, the crisp voice of the conductor broke into their conversation. "We apologize for the delay and thank all passengers for their patience and cooperation. All mechanical issues have been resolved. The compartment doors will now unlock and passengers should feel free to move about the train. We hope you enjoy the rest of your journey to London."

A loud click echoed through the compartment, breaking whatever spell that had come over them. Rose suddenly stared at the ground, as stiff and uncomfortable as she had been when she first entered the compartment. Her eyes darted towards the door and the corridor, which was now rapidly filling with people.

"You should go," said Scorpius quietly, sitting back down beside the window. The snowfall was lightening somewhat, and he could see a sliver of moon through the clouds. "I'm sure people are looking for you."

"Yes . . . I suppose they are."

In the reflection in the glass, he watched her cross to the door, then hesitate.

"Scorpius?"

It was, as far as he could remember, the first time she'd called him by his first name.

"Yeah?"

"I . . . should probably wait until Albus gets back," she said, coming back to sit across from him. "I meant what I said, about wanting things to be better with him."

Scorpius broke into a grin and turned to her, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I'll let you in on a little secret about Albus," he whispered. "His mother has some sort of horrible vendetta against sweets."

"Yeah, I know," Rose replied, shuddering. "Technically my parents do too."

"So he can generally be bought with a couple of boxes of Pepper Imps and Jelly Slugs."

Rose raised one eyebrow. "That's it?"

"More or less."

"A bit cheap, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "If he's in a  _really_  bad mood, you might have to throw in a box of Exploding Bonbons."

She shook her head, chuckling. "That one I know. My dad gets him a box for Christmas every year. Al's mum hates it."

"Wait, what?" Scorpius blinked at her. "He told me that all he gets for Christmas are sugar-free mints."

"Um . . ."

"I've been giving him deluxe boxes of Exploding Bonbons for three years now!"

Rose pressed both hands to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oops."

"I can't  _believe_  him."

"He's never going to forgive me now," she said with a hysterical little laugh.

"Forgive you for what?"

They both jumped; Albus was leaning against the doorframe, watching them both sullenly.

But while Rose shot to her feet, looking edgy, Scorpius glared at him. "Do you mean to tell me that your uncle's been plying you with Exploding Bonbons every Christmas?"

Albus's jaw dropped; turning to glare at Rose, he snapped, "Seriously? How do you even know about that?"

"Because I'm the one who goes with him to buy them," she retorted, returning fire. Scorpius cleared his throat and shot her a pointed look. She paused, then took a deep breath and smiled. "But I certainly wouldn't have said anything if I'd known you were hustling your best friend."

Albus glanced at Scorpius, who, for his part, was doing his best not to snicker at the guilt-stricken expression on his best friend's face. "I wouldn't call it  _hustling_  exactly . . ." he said shamefacedly, sitting down next to him.

Rose snorted. "I would."

Scorpius sighed a little as she went and opened the door. Even with losing feeling in his fingers and briefly being convinced that an army of Dementors was about to swoop down to consume his soul, it had been wonderful to spend so much time with her. Especially since, barring any more mechanical malfunctions, they would go back to being occasional classmates and nothing more.

"Look, Albus," said Rose, "I know you're not thrilled about going right to the Burrow."

"Too right I'm not," he muttered.

"So I had an idea. To make the holiday a little more enjoyable for you."

"And what was that?" asked Albus warily.

"Since Mal-Scorpius is planning on spending his holiday alone anyway, I thought you might want to bring him along." Staring decidedly at her shoes, she added, "So you have someone other than the ghoul for company."

The shock that Scorpius felt at this suggestion was mirrored on Albus's face. " _You_  want me to bring Scorpius to the Burrow? For  _Christmas_?"

"I just thought it it'd make things easier for," said Rose, looking up defensively.

Albus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"Something else is going on here. What is it? Did James put you up to this?"

"No! I just—"

"If you think you're being clever—"

"Albus, relax," interrupted Scorpius. "She's just being . . . nice."

He snorted, and Scorpius's eyebrows shot up at how much he sounded like Rose. "Yeah, right."

She started to swell, but after another look from Scorpius, she took a deep breath and replied, "I have been known to do that from time to time."

Before Albus could retort, Scorpius cleared his throat and said, "I would love to spend Christmas with your family, but . . ." He hesitated. "I should really spend it with mine. I don't think I could leave my dad alone like that."

"But you said you don't see him anyway," said Albus.

"I know," replied Scorpius, looking down, "but it's enough to know he's there. And he'll know I'm there too."

Rose looked at him for a long moment before nodding and disappearing down the corridor. The minute she was gone, Albus turned to him and asked incredulously, "What was  _that_  about?"

Scorpius just shrugged. "An olive branch." And before Albus could ask anything else, he added, "So. Where did you end up during the lock-down?"


End file.
